Ashes In His Eyes
by wreakinghavocday-n-night
Summary: He never feels as lucky to be living as Peter tells him he is- Stiles isn't sure if he's crazy or if he really is talking to dead people, Stiles doesn't particularly care either way. WARNINGS: Rape/Non-Con, references to rape/non-con, Stockholm Syndrome, smut and slash.
1. Chapter 1

This isn't going to be a fun trip.

WARNINGS: Rape/Non-Con, references to rape/non-con, Stockholm Syndrome, smut and slash.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but maybe a few OC's and the plot. Teen Wolf and it's characters are not my own.

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_I am ghost_

_A comatose_

_Forever Sleeping Underground_

_The walking dead_

_Follow your steps_

_Because Your Very Much Alive_

_And I wish for your warmth and touch_

_The blood inside you keeps you alive_

_Your heart beats, make your blood pulse_

_Like A Torch It Lights You Up Inside_

_Under foot, buried in the snow._

_Without out pulse I am always cold._

_I wish for your fingertips_

_To Press Into My Lifeless Skin_

_And to make me feel electric, alive_

_And to forget that I am cold inside_

_Start my heart and fake a pulse_

_To Take Me As Your Very Own_

_And I know that you are hurting_

_But that heartbreak that you feel_

_Makes you sure that your alive_

_Makes You Sure That This Is Real_

_You are nothing but pain and truth_

_And You Burn Like A Flame,_

_The Reckless Youth_

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Stiles remembers the way the blood contrast with her pale skin, and how terrified he was for her. How willing he was to cooperate, just to keep her alive. Can't imagine how things would have ended up if he felt for her then how he feels for her now. Probably the same way, he always loved to play the knight in shining armor. But his armor was paper thin, and Peter shredded it with his vicious claws, shred through him.

And he remembers they way Peter looked at him, with hungry proud eyes. The way he lead him into the forest. Standing behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, claws pressed against his skin. Breathing in his ear, whispering.

"_How lovely you are, how witty and intelligent. _

_How warm, how soft, how small and precious."_

Stiles would shudder and swallow thickly, scared to speak, scared to breath. Stuttering and gasping tripping over his own feet. Peter only tightened his grip and kissed behind his ear. Chuckling and muttering about a first day with new legs. Stiles was terrified, yet for the first time not of Peters big scary claws and sharp gleaming teeth. But of Peter's soft spoken words and of Peters chapped lips and long fingers and Peter's hunger.

_How special, how headstrong and brave you are._

_Can I mate you? Can I take you and make you my own?_

_Can I have you and love you? Will you accept my love?_

Stiles whimpered. Peter chuckled.

He remembers the way Peter laid him down and undressed him slowly. Taking in his smooth skin, dotted with moles and freckles, contrasting against it's paleness as it glowed under the moon light. Watching Stiles shiver as he dragged his claws down his torso, not hard enough to shred but to break the skin slightly and make it swell and redden. Stiles can remember the way his lips felt against his neck, chapped and broken up. Mouthing and licking and kissing, nipping slightly. Sucking and bruising, marking him up. He can remember the warmth of his palm against Stiles wrist, the way his body racked and shook with shudders and silent sobs, the tears warm against his face. The way "no, no, no" fell from his lips so easily because it was the only thing he could think, "no, no, no" and "I don't want this please, _please, _don't do this"

He can feel the warmth of Peter's hand wrapped around Stiles wrist, his breath ghosting over it as he held it up for Stiles to see. Kissing it lightly before sinking his teeth in, breaking through the skin and tissue as if it was butter. Remembers his fingers pressing into his skin, dancing and tracing, it burned. Remembers the way his lips trailed his fingers, biting his nipple and licking it soothingly, it burned. Biting and sucking and licking and kissing, marking Stiles up while he choked on his blood. Drowning. Drowning and burning, burning inside out. The ground burned against his skin, he screamed, Peter shushed him biting at his lips and tongue, silencing him.

Spreading Stiles open for himself, shoving in spit slicked and hard. It burned. Peter cradling his face with his palms, thrusting in quick and hard while apologizing for it having to be this way. Telling Stiles how he'll make a magnificent wolf. Telling him to be good. Kissing his bruised and bleeding lips before coming and leaving him in the forest to burn.

Stiles remembers waking up to bright lights and bright white walls. To the strong smell of antiseptic and sickness, an underlying smell of death. Nurses are checking his vitals and gossiping quietly.

"_Melissa found him in his back yard, nude and shivering. Bruised and bleeding and so torn up." There's a heavy sigh, "they think he was raped".The other nurse tut's and there's a silence after that._

No one knows how he got home, forensics say Peter did it to him, but Peter was supposed to be crippled, and every things confusing and frustrating. Stiles father is scared, because Stiles is so quiet and lost in his own head. Because Stiles sobs and yells in his sleep. But there's not much he can do besides talk to a doctor and worry.

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Any one who can figure out what the capitalization in the last lines (in a the stanza's of the poem) means get's a sneak peak at the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

Another short chapter woot woot, nobody tried last chapters challenge though so the offers still up, with that being said here you go.

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Peter Dies But He Doesn't Leave,

He Holds Him Hostage Through His Dreams.

Chapter Two:

The first time it happens Stiles is appropriately horrified. Imagine waking up surrounded by colors, and scents, warmth, forced to be mute and lying next to the man who ruined your life as if you two were as thick as thieves and not the farthest from it. It was terrifying, but it was a dream, and Peter looked so heartbroken, a part of Stiles wanted, needed to hear him out. To find some sort of peace in what he said. He did not find peace though, only a bitterness that grew with time, each night when Peter would visit him and tell him his story, each night he would explain, and Stiles would only grow more and more upset. More and more upset and horrified on how things played out for the man turned monster.

He first felt empathy, then fondness, want for the man's closeness, a need for his presence. He could not say that he wanted Peter romantically, and if any sexual advances were made he more than likely be livid. Still he did want his alpha alive though, alive and warm and curled around him, offering his comfort and compassion. Guiding him through the change and life itself, to keep him company, to fight away the cold. He was an omega and alone, without a pack, he wished for the protection Peter would offer. But Peter was long since lost.

The day his father wakes him up with shining eyes, shaking in fear and compassion for his broken up son, Stiles goes to Peter's grave. He sniffs out the place Derek buried him under dead leaves and even deader soil. He sits down cross legged and smooths the hard, compact, earth. He breaths deep and asks for answers, he ask for answers and explanations and peace. Asks Peter why he would bite him if he knows he was going to die.

Because how did he not expect to die, he killed Derek's most precious person. How could he not expect him to avenge her? So why, why in the world would he choose Stiles, to carry on his legacy, and to carry the weight of his tragic tale on his shoulders? Why would he whisper to him in his sleep, simple comforts and cryptic warnings, stories of his time alive, and make Stiles empathize and crave him? How could Peter have Stiles accept his love but insist that he not be bitter?

Why would he make him empathize the monster he had become, why would he make Stiles so sad and cold? Laying in his bed at night felt like he buried beneath the frost next to Peter rather than in his heated home. Stiles asks his questions every day for weeks, sits and waits patiently till it grows dark and he has to go home. He does idle human things and then he goes to sleep and waits some more.

Peter never answers his questions though, he just warns Stiles of snakes and tells him that he's sorry and that Stiles is magnificent. Magnificent and intelligent and an excellent wolf. Tells him that he wishes he could curl into Stiles warmth and feel alive too. Tells Stiles to stay away from snakes, begs Stiles to stay away from snakes. Stiles always sobs and sobs and begs for his alpha not to leave him again, not to leave him with the memory of his monster and the warmth of his love. Sobs so loud that he chokes and heaves and claws at his chest, trying to breath without waking up. So he can stay with Peter in the Spring, but he always wakes up and he always takes that breath that assures him he's alive and alone. He never feels as lucky to be living as Peter tells him he is.

And when Peter comes to him and tells him that this is the last time he can visit, Stiles is more broken up than ever, and he's holding his breath hoping that if he doesn't breath he can stay longer. But according to Peter that's not the way things work and he has to let go, has to move on. He touches Stiles for the first time since he died, smooths his cheek bones with his thumbs, it burns, cradles his face, it burns, kisses his forehead, there's ashes in his eyes, mouths at his neck, he's on fire. Stiles is sobbing again, Peter telling him to stay away from snakes again, to stay away from snakes and to seek out the only alpha left. Stiles is begging Peter to stay with him, he doesn't. He get's up and walks and the tall grass and colorful wildflowers die in his wake. The sky turns gray and it rains ashes, still warm and red and smoking, burning his skin.

It circles him like a ripple affect and soon he's lying in hard soil and decay watching Peter disappear between the tree's and into the darkness. And he's not sobbing anymore, but he is drowning, the water filling his lungs and flowing from his mouth like a faucet. And when he wakes up his bed is soaked and there's burn holes in his star wars t-shirt. He has no idea what to make of it.

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Hope it doesn't suck ass! Review and let me know?


	3. Chapter 3

Lame A/N you should probably read:

Well then, no point in beating around the bush, as some of you may have noticed I haven't updated any of my stories in the past few weeks. This is for a reason, for a while, a very long while, I've been dealing with some personal issues. I won't get into my personal angst, but I will tell you it's been affecting the quality of my writing, not only that but I wasn't really satisfied with what I was putting out either. I just don't have it in me to continue this right now, I do have plans on doing so eventually though.

School's coming up and that plus this major project I've started and my issues means I don't know when I'll be getting back to this. But I will, I might even re-write some of it honestly.

With that being said I just wanted to tell you guys I'll be going on hiatus. Sorry.

-Cher.


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